Balancing work and play while wearing many hats (I mean heels).

Some days I have no idea what I am doing. Scratch that. Most days I have no idea what I am doing.

There is no motherhood guidebook. Sure there are great resources out there. Books, mobile apps, Pinterest links to blogs like this one, your own mother, etc – but there is no ultimate guide that we are all working from. No uniformed source, that we can reference to.

I remember the first few days when I started my job with the company I am with now. Eight years ago, my job was digitally focused. I created email campaigns, website pages and was on the brinks of something big which would one day be termed “social media.” Part of my tasks was to update the company’s website on a regular basis with the various outlet’s hours of operations. I remember asking my director, “Well, where is the guidebook? ” He looked at me quite strange. I had all these places to go to look for the many outlet hours and very few resources matched. “How am I suppose to know which of these options is correct?” I again spoke up and asked.

I could tell I puzzled the man as he blinked hard and said, “Well, you will just have to call around and ask.”

It is the same with motherhood. No real – book or resource to end all books and resources. No real “Bible” of parenting or motherhood. We are all mad collectors of information. We ask and sometimes we receive without even asking, tips and tidbits on ways to coop and handle our kids. Sleep training and potty training, building self-confidence, discipline methods, best foods for their diets and how to the lose the pacifier and the bottle. We are absorbent creatures. But how do we know if our way is the right way? Or if there is even a right way at all?

A few of my girlfriends are expecting babies and turn to social media for recommendations. They will post things such as – “Looking for a childcare recommendation. Looking for the best brand of baby monitors. What are your baby registry must haves? Do I really need a wipe warmer?” I use to thrive so much more in assisting and offering my opinion. I mean they are asking! But, I have learned that everyone has an opinion. Everyone! To the point that I have made a recommendation based on my experience and then had someone comment below me basically telling the friend, “Do not listen to Ashli. Instead do this…” Well not in those exact words. It was more like a big “NO” and a pointer finger emoji pointing to my comment and then the exact opposite advice. It hurt my feelings quite frankly. First, because someone had the nerve to call me out in front of everyone and secondly, that my personal opinion was discredited as “wrong” and hers “right.” How could it be wrong when it worked so well for me?

I often like to participate in chat loops on Instagram. Last week, a group of mommas included me in one and the one mother posed the following question, “What is one thing you said you would never do before becoming a mom and now you do?”

I actually referred back to This Post on the Blog and shared how I said I would never give a binkie, or allow them to watch too much TV or co-sleep and now my two year old sleeps in between us at night, while watching Sprout, with a binkie in her mouth. Mom fail?! No, definitely not. Motherhood has taught me many, many valuable lessons. One being – never say never, but ultimately that you have to do what is right for you and your child without the influence of others. I added, “Each parent and each child are on their own unique journey.”

What is right for one family, one child or one parent may not necessarily work for another and that is okay. We are all dealt different circumstances that alter our wants and needs in this life. Everything little thing can add up in a big impactful way. If you ask me my opinion or my advice, know I will gladly share because I want to help you, but also know it is coming from a place that has worked for me, and may not you, and guess what – that is okay.

We all learn as we go. Some days motherhood is pretty great and others days lousy. Some days I feel like supermom and other days question my sanity. We can talk about those things too. The good and the bad. It is not all roses being parents, and having a bad day does not define who we are or how well we are at raising our kids.

Social media has a brilliant way of making us look like super stars, with perfect lives, doing it all the right way. We don’t post pictures of our grimy kids, who have not showered in two days and have dried maple syrup on their sleeves. We would be mortified if someone posted a video of us losing our minds when our kid(s) have literally pushed us to our breaking point and we would be devastated to share the not so nice words we say to our spouse over something so minuscule because we are tired, no, take that back – exhausted and completely stressed. But, that is really our real lives, and that is okay. I am here to say. I got you. I understand you. I have been there. I am there.

There is no guide to being a great parent. There is no one-stop, end-all-be-all, that will tell you exactly how to handle motherhood. There are a ton of great resources and there is a great deal of mixed advice. The best advice I can give to you – There is no wrong or right. There is only your wrong and your right.

And, as a parent, you will learn what is best for you and your own children. Learn it, love it, accept it and own it.

It wasn’t until she laid there lips slightly puckered upward, those big round eyes closed with her naturally long lashes whispering against her face and her tiny baby hands clutched into fists that I watched and wondered her dreams. She was so peaceful. The home was so quiet. Her beauty so breathtaking that the clock had passed two minutes before I realized I had just sat there starring at her with a smile on my face.

A true genuine smile that slowly faded and a pang in my gut and an incredible sense of guilt overcame my body. I felt heartbroken in that instant. Heartbroken for my beauty as she rested her head on a big comfy pillow with her legs across mine.

Happy New Year’s Eve! Wow. Another year. How does this happen? How does time move so suddenly? How are we going to be joining together to count down from 10 this evening and kiss at the stroke of midnight to celebrate the turn of a New Year?

I feel relieved that the year is over, yet blessed that I have had this time. I feel exhausted from the stresses that occurred in 2016 and yet so grateful for every bump along the way. Mostly, I am optimistic that 2017 will be my year and your year. That good will come from the days ahead of us.

Looking back on 2016 one of the proudest accomplishments has been this space. I started to feel like 2016 was the year small successes and victories started happening. Baby steps if you will towards something much bigger for this space, my writing and for me. You are behind that, because you as a reader are also a supporter and I adore you!

There have been many great moments that have come from some of my experiences that I have translated to words here for you. These are my Top 2016 blog posts based on views. I hope you take a moment to re-read a favorite or read one you may have missed along the way.

#1 – 10 Hotel Hacks When Traveling With Kids
So, there we are. The top 10 posts of 2016. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I really cannot express my gratitude enough. This space is therapy for me. It is finally the hobby I had been searching for. When I am having a rough moment in time, I think how I can translate what I am going through into words. When I experience pure joy, I cannot wait to share with you. So, once again, thank you.

May 2017 bless you and your family and may we look back on 2016 and seek all the good.

And, poof! Just like that, she is now two… TWO! Now seriously, Mr. Time, how does that happen? I am still baffled by this. I remember when I found out I was pregnant and 9 months seemed like an eternity. I felt like this little baby would be growing inside me forever, and then before I knew it I was in my second trimester, then 20 weeks, then 30 and then baby, all baby. And, now two?

Tears have been shed. My sweet girl is all smiles, attitude (yes, that happened) and giggling and laughing. Instead of trying to find the words to say, I put this little video together. I act like it is for her, but I know it is for me. I am celebrating her BIG life in our little world.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. It really is a better place since you came along.

Moms and Dads, I raise this glass for you. Can we talk about how often our children truly annoy the heck out of us?! Seriously, though. I love my little girl. With all of my being, with all that I have, I project my love for her. She is my all and my everything. I cannot explain the level of love my mind, body, soul and every inch of my beating heart has for my child. But, some days, she annoys the shit out of me. There, I said it. #KeepingItReal #NotAllUnicorns up in here.

I can only imagine you parents out there with more than one child, with children that can actually, consciously talk back, with children that can run to their rooms and slam their doors, with tween children that are a roller coaster of emotions, with teenager children – yeah, just teenagers, with adult kids and with children that are married to beloved in-laws. I feel your pain, maybe not the same level, but the same struggle and root of your pain. Okay, parenting is hard. It is the ultimate in personality swings and gauging the day to day changing tides.

But, I cannot help but feel slightly guilty for the amount of eye rolls I project towards my daughter in one day. Yes, in one day! It takes me back to high school when the eye roll was forced from a place of detest for the girl sitting across from me at the lunch table, with perky boobs and perfect teeth and hair, but the most annoying way of bragging with every word. I digress.

Logan was born on a cold winter night. Three weeks early, the little bug not yet out of my womb already earned her first tally on the parenting wall of scares. A wall we all put up the moment we find out we are to be parents. Tallies that we mark with every tumble and fall, scrap and bleed. After laboring for 5 hours, we were rushed into an emergency c-section and then there she was. All red and swollen and wide eyed.

“Where have you placed me?” I often wonder each child thinks when they enter a room full of strangers in masks and bright overhead lights piercing rays into their sweet innocent eyes. And, then they hear your voice and know they are home.

Having a child changes your perspective of the world. It happens instantaneously. For some, you recognize the change the moment the newborn is placed in your arms. Others it take a few days or weeks. Sometimes it occurs when you finally leave your child to return to work and maybe for others it isn’t until you take a moment to really slow down, look around you, reflect back and realize that you did change in that very first moment you looked your baby in the eyes.

When I found out I was pregnant with Lo I was so certain that the little baby growing in my belly was a boy. So, certain in fact that when the ultrasound technician wrote the sex of our baby on a piece of paper and folded it for our surprise reveal, and those pink balloons popped out of a cardboard box, I was in shock. Excited but in shocked. I rushed into the house, found the folded piece of paper and opened the ultrasound and note which read, “Looks like a girl.”

I was even more confused. “Looks like girl.” Who writes that? Well, she did and now I had no way to contact her and ask what that meant. I studied ultrasounds in Google images and read reading them online so much, I may very well be certified at this point. Just kidding.VIEW STORY »

I was a young twenty something year-old, fresh out of college and immersed in securing a position that I could define as a “career” versus a “job.” “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” I recall the HR manager asked me. It was easy to answer then. “To be secure with a job in a career path I love.” Followed by, “To be a great asset to the company, so much so that I am working my way up to director status.” That was my goal. It happened.

I remember that same twenty something-year-old girl, who chased the dreams of love and marriage. Defining myself and my aspirations by the next phase of life. Remaining hopefully that soon I would be sporting a diamond on my left finger and setting a date for “I do!” Finally, it happened.

I look back now and can recall the moment that the ideological shift of worshiping my own professional success took a backseat to building a family foundation. Not long after I was pregnant and months later my daughter with big beautiful eyes stared back at me. My dream of hearing “You’re promoted” turned to “Come here, Momma.” It happened.

Up until then, I was chasing life situations. Goals that I could check off a list. Been there, done that, to-do’s being accomplished in this thing called life.

Then something happened. I quit chasing things. Instead my mind raced to my feelings and emotions and I defined myself and every success in my life by how I felt that day.

I am thirty years old. Wow. I am going to just go ahead and congratulate myself here and now for announcing that so boldly. I am thirty years old and I have fought the majority of my life to be happy.Let that sink in a second. I know I am.

Happiness has become somewhat of a dream we are all chasing, especially as Americans. We have become obsessed with being happy. You hear it all the time now, more so than ever before. “How does that make you feel?” we ask our children. “Are you happy?” Your Boss asks you during your review. As we check off life achievements we place happiness on the pedestal. A high reaching pedestal, I might add, to jump after.

I crossed that road this year. A co-worker asked me in a pretty raw, vulnerable meeting, “What motivates you?” I looked up and without missing a beat I answered, “Happiness!” I could literally read her thoughts through her non-verbal response. But, then she vocalized it and said, “Well then we aren’t aligned.”

That conversation haunted me for days, weeks and months after. Not because of her response, but because of my answer. The happiness answer.

It is not that it is not true. It is very much true. I want to be happy and happiness does motivate me. Who doesn’t want to be happy? But, why am I chasing it? When it cannot be chased.

The reality is that we as adults are chasing this very thing and as parents, we are the worse. If not for ourselves, for our children. We are so focused on making them happy humans. Think about it! I will use myself as an example to really let this sink in.

I was obsessed with taking Lo to a real Pumpkin Patch this Fall. It consumed me. I had to do it! In fact, it ruined a good Sunday with my husband because plans to attend one fell through. Lo napped at an odd time, right in the middle of the day and our hopes, well my hopes of Pumpkin Patching it, well they faded. In my mind our day together was shot. I felt more and more like a failure as I scrolled Facebook as she peacefully napped, seeing other moms and dads out at a local farm partaking in their fall event. I placed my success as a parent on accomplishing this task. I wanted to give her that experience and I wanted to see her happy, make her happy.

We finally did it. Yeah for us! But, we never stepped foot into the pumpkin patch itself. My daughter instead was happy, content even, with the sliding boards that scattered the farm. She giggled over the bouncy balls that were thrown about a lawn surrounded by a hay bale fence and she stomped around in glee in a Silo filled with corn kernels. In fact, the farm had an over abundance of options, and more entertainment than could ever keep my two-year old laughing and playing for hours, maybe even days on end. Although, after an hour she climbed into the stroller and was ready for a nap, grabbing her blanket and binkie and quietly watching the hundreds of kids play around her, as I pushed her through the field.

The point is she had no clue we drove two hours to this farm festival. She had no clue that this was the one thing her own mother drove herself crazy for weeks to accomplish. She could not tell you if you asked her right now what we did and where we went. Yes, she was happy at the time, but she also was content during the commute home as she watched Frozen from the DVD player and she was laughing as we stopped at Panera Bread to get her Mac N’ Cheese for dinner.

To dig even deeper, I am sure if we never even went, and spent that weekend at home on the swing or playing hide n’ seek for the 800th time, my daughter would have sported the same smile and giggle.

We become so paralyzed by the notion to make our kids happy. Whether you are like me and must take your child places, or you feel the need to buy them the latest toy craze or you cannot leave the super market without buying a toy, we fail to realize we are buying them the happiness we are chasing. We see it all the time, kids want to engage with us. They want to have small, meaningful connections. We as parents create yet again, this idea that we must make our children happy and we chase this happiness dream for them. And, as I stated above happiness cannot be chased.

Happiness is not a goal. It is an emotion that is the result of decisions made or living within a good moment.

I do not care if my daughter is happy.

It is not my job to make her happy. Instead, it is my job to make good decisions for her, until the day she can make them for herself. It is my job to worry about her being a productive human being that is respectful and decent in this world, that knows right from wrong, that respects authority, that appreciates morals and that can appreciate the life she has been given. It is my job to build her a strong foundation so that she can stand tall and shine. Maybe the most important thing I can do is to love her and care for her and to make her feel beautiful and important. To make her feel valued. It is my job to build her core and her self-confidence, much like my very own.

I realize my daughter is the focus of everything I do now. She is the source of every decision I make and the only reason my dreams that became my realities, sometimes feel like my nightmares. Chasing after a finish line that I believed once I ripped through the ribbon, happiness would burst from the other side. Although, each and every time, I looked back, I realized happiness doesn’t just sit there like a trophy waiting to be grabbed.

When we place all of our dreams and goals on happiness we fail. Why? Because no matter how wonderful or perfect one’s world may be, just as happiness may exist in it, so does sadness, failure and exhaustion. They easily can creep in and destroy ones happiness. Maybe it lasts for 5 minutes, an hour, a few days or weeks, the point is happiness will come and go through our lives. You cannot chase it and catch it.

Instead, contentment is what we should strive for. I can feel defeated from a bad day, but still hold my head high because I am content. I can feel like a failure of a mom because I don’t want to work 55+ hour weeks with a daughter at home, but feel content as I lay my head on my pillow to sleep knowing my daughter has a hard working, independent mom she can one day look up to.

And, for our children this too should be what we strive for. Who cares if they are happy? You are going make them turn off a video game for dinner, take away the iPad out of punishment, make them finish their peas, set them in timeout, tell them, “no,” tell them “we cannot afford that,” and send them to their room. Guess what? They will not be happy. They will be hurt, sad, mad, frustrated, and probably yell, “I hate you,” and slam a door in your face, maybe even a couple times before they turn into adults and move out. But through the emotions, when happiness cannot be found, when you have worked hard to create a decent human being that is loved, they too will lay their head on their pillow and feel contentment and not even know it. And, that, well that is why I could care less about happiness and that is what I define as success worth chasing.

My hometown’s grocery store recently closed and reopened under a new franchise brand. The change brought about a reorganized produce section, complete with some organics, better pricing (my opinion) and a great perks program (again, my opinion). But, by far, the greatest addition is the kid-sized grocery carts. (INSERT – Complete sarcasm! HERE)

I thought I was the cool mom. I thought she was the disciplined child. I learned that those two things really do not go hand in hand.

Here is what happens when you give a near two-year old their own personal kid grocery cart.

It all started with her big eyed gasp, that seriously gets me every single time. How could I resist? She spotted the little shopping cart and reached out her hands, little fingers erect, nearly leaving my arms. Then with her little voice, “Mommy, cart, Mommy, cart.” There was a smile on my face. “I got this!” No, “We got this!” I thought proudly to myself.

Looking back now, there were other adults starring at me. Eyeing me up. I am sure they were all thinking the same thing… “What a cool Mom. Great Mom.”

Ahh, who am I kidding? They were secretly judging me. “Just you wait!” They all probably smirked.

But, she was so cute, cruising through the produce. “Mommy, orange,” she yelled. “Nana.” (That is banana talk, folks).

I think the first item in her cart was a pack of blueberries, then a yellow pepper, then said Nanas.

“Follow Mommy.” I would sweetly proclaim and smile at other shoppers. As if my smile and nod was really communication to cue them to look at my sweetheart.

The frozen foods were next. As she slowly lagged behind me, I scanned the freezers while constantly looking back. My concentration and meal planning game was totally off, but hey, I needed a “few” things.

As we made the turn, I noticed the produce guy hauling the empty cart up the aisle behind us. “Watch where you are going,” I softly encouraged her, smiling at the gentleman who did not return my sincere gesture. Nah, instead he sighed, looking around his cart, knowing he could easily take her out. There was no, “She is cute,” or mere awe from him. More like disdain and I felt it then, he was thinking, “Who the hell invented these things?”

We avoided a mid-aisle collision and rounded the end cap to the chips. Lo started to grab items. Up until this point, things were too high or behind freezer doors, but now they were just a hand away. “No,” starting to be said.

“I don’t think so. We don’t need that. Come on, Lo. No.” All the discipline started to come out, but she was still so darn cute. All disheveled and grimy from the day, pushing her cart. Ya, know, just like, her Mom. I got out my phone. I videoed her. Posted it to Instagram, then SnapChat. She was a bit more confident with the cart and I was still the cool Mom.

We scanned the next aisle and encountered an enthusiastic shopper. “Oh, would you look at her!” The happy lady said to her husband as he picked through the brats (actually I don’t know if that is what he was looking at in the meat section, but it sounds good now). He turned, holding his brats and chuckled, “Are you shopping young Lady?”

Of course, Lo replied, “Yesh!” (Not yes. It is Yesh!) I smiled back. THIS is what I was talking about and what I was envisioned in my head when we first spotted the cart in the front of the store. A happy Mommy / Daughter night.

I was growing in confidence too. I added some soup cans to her buggy as we made the turn to the next aisle revealing… more canned goods. Before I knew it she had beets, spam and tuna in her cart. Ya, know, typical items a two-year old desires! I secretly removed them, returning them to the shelf when she would turn her back. Half way up the aisle I realized… she was starting to take control. She started running. Grabbing a canned good here, grabbing one there. Actually she could no longer push the buggy. Well she could but she was exercising the same exertion I do, when I am loaded down and sliding into the check out lane.

“Why don’t we take a break form the buggy and you ride in Mommy’s cart I asked?” Surprisingly, she obliged. I transferred the items from her cart to mine, loaded her in the front, left the child’s cart in the aisle and went on my merry way. So, I thought…

Once the cart was out of sight, the meltdown began. Screaming, crying, tantrum status in the SODA section. Just like a shaken bottle of pop, there Lo was erupting. I tried shhhing her. I tried distraction. I talked about McDonald’s. I actually thought about aborting the whole damn mission. “But you have come so far!!” I mentally told myself. “You are right I have!” I mentally replied.

She was screaming! Clinging to my neck, looking into my eyes. Oh damn, we were deep. I started sweating. Like full on drench mode, as I passed Captain Crunch and Tony the Tiger. If they could talk, I was no longer the cool Mom. I was what-the-heck-did-you-do-to-your-child-Mom.

Then there were other children. A distraction to Lo. And, an end display of Beanie Babies. Who knew they made these anymore? I took her out of the shopping cart (BIG MISTAKE). I let her play with the toys to calm down. I grabbed some items quickly, we made the turn and then we each saw it… three children pushing mini shopping carts. I repeat pushing MINI SHOPPING CARTS. She freaked! She wanted one, had to have one, and then in the open she spotted the one I had abandoned mere moments earlier, sitting there alone and she took off. Full run through the meat section. I had a choice. I chose chase. I left my cart, my purse, wide open I might add and went after her. By the time I grabbed her arm, she grabbed the cart. I was defeated. I succumbed. “Fine. Push the damn cart!” I yelled. People looked at me. I was Mean Mom.

My cart was untouched. No one stole my snacks and my purse remained in the front seat. Wallet still intact.

At this point just wanted to hurry up and get the hell out of the store, while my mini shopper followed in tow.

As we made it through the dairy aisle I became a Bully Mom. “Come on, Lo. Hurry up. No. Pay attention. Stop that. Don’t touch that!” I felt like a jerk since I set this whole thing up. When she spotted the Popsicles, I felt like I HAD to buy them for her for the mere subtle sorry for the trouble I caused. I allowed her to put them in her buggy then hurried her along.

As we eyed the check out lanes, the finish line in sight. I snagged this picture.

She had actually opened the box, while she followed behind me and was two-seconds from eating one. I quickly threw the Popsicles in my cart. And drug her, her cart, my cart and all of her tears and screams to the open check out lane. Yes, for an open check out lane.

I ditched her mini shopping cart. I wanted to drop kick it or shove it as hard as I could into the nearby wall. Instead, I mildly pushed it aside.

When I thought I was home free, when I thought I had suppressed her anger and even my own, with gummies (fair trade-off for a Popsicle), the kind couple from aisle #3 appeared. You know, the ones who encouraged me, who made me feel like the Cool Mom, she heard my daughter’s squeals and thought now would be a great time to interact a bit more. She reach for the Snow white balloon in the check out lane and presented it to my daughter. I now realized I needed the mini shopping cart to run it into her heel. No, I am kidding, kidding. HaHa. But, I did want to ask her if she wanted to babysit my screaming daughter, while I peeled the balloon from her fingers.

We checked out. I spent more money than I planned. I actually had no idea what I even bought until I unpacked at home. And, I drove us straight to McDonald’s for our evening dinner. I was too exhausted to cook.

Then another fight broke out between the two of us in the fast food lane as I asked her if she wanted chicken nuggets and she started screaming and crying for pancakes and sausages. I thought I had lost all hope. But then a heavenly angel came through and spoke to me , using the drive-thru speaker as her medium and asked – “Welcome to McDonald’s. Breakfast Menu or Dinner Menu?” The light shined at the end of a long tunnel and I ordered breakfast for dinner.

Thank you, McDonald’s for the win!! I will take the all-day breakfast idea over the mini shopping carts any day.

This past Sunday morning started out like most. Pajamas and coffee in bed. A little bed head toddler beauty squished in between us for morning snuggles and sausage thawing in the refrigerator, awaiting the pitter-patter of our feet as we make a break from beneath the warmth of our bed covers to rise with the sun to start a new day. Where did I lose you? I lost myself at sausage. Cause’ Lord knows I forget to thaw meat out and then scramble by placing it in a scalding bowl of hot water and praying to the thawing Gods.

This is the morning I envisioned in my mind pre-baby and still even living crazy Sunday after crazy Sunday, envision will miraculously occur.

Picture perfect none the less. The real Sunday went a little something like this.

Lo fought me to go down Saturday. Our fault. We missed her mark and paid royally. Let me go back a bit further and explain that Friday night I finally got the new bed sheets on the bed that I purchased on Thursday. We only had the real joy of sleeping on them, Friday night. Lo decided Saturday morning was the morning and a good time to pee in our bed. Not even 10 hours on our mattress, I stripped the bed, yet again, to rewash the new sheets. So, by Saturday night when the clock struck 10 pm and my wired toddler poked me in the eye balls and flopped around like a fish out of water, I carried her into her own crib and crashed hard. On the bed with our missing fitted sheet. When Nathan finally awoke from the couch and pulled back the comforter at midnight, I knew he was tired too as he did not even bulk at the sheet-less situation

By 6:45 am on Sunday, Lo was calling out our names. We convinced her the “sky was not awake” (Frozen reference since she is slightly obsessed) and were able to convince her to give us about 30 more minutes of laying in bed time. Notice I did not say sleeping or even cuddling. 30 extra minutes to lay in bed.

Eventually, she crawled over my body and onto the floor and stood at the foot of the bed so we could only see her eyes, forehead and hair and repeatedly yelled,”Down. Down. Down.” Until we got out of bed.

At this point we caused our own chaos with an hour and a half until church. I skipped the breakfast ritual and opted for cinnamon rolls only to discover an odd oozing liquid that seeped out and onto the baking sheet. Realizing we were passed the expiration, I reluctantly tossed them. I say reluctant, because I Googled – Can you eat Cinnamon Rolls pass their expiration date? and then figured stomach cramps weren’t my thing. That morning we ate oatmeal and berries. I know, we are great people. Eating healthy as our last resource. I literally told Nathan, “It takes no food in the house to eat well.”

Lo hates showers and baths when the timing is right and when they are necessary but is obsessed when you have 40 minutes to get yourself and everyone out the door. So, after a quick shower, she was bathed, dried and dressed for church.

I let her play in our spare bedroom, which houses my childhood Barbie dream house that is now hers, while Nathan and I rushed around getting dressed, gathering an offering and packing her diaper bag. I believe I was semi-curling my hair when I heard Nathan call out my name. When I walked in the room our daughter was laying in the bedroom closet, against a pile of debris (otherwise known as junk you don’t know where else to put so you shove in a closet) and just starring at us red faced and weird. Yes, weird. “What is wrong with her?” Nathan asked. She was coherent. She kicked me when I approached, so I assumed all was well and I scooped her up, checked her over and then placed her back on the floor.

Minutes later when we returned to check on her. She had returned to the closet, squatting in the doorway. This time her face was red and she was blotchy. Nathan went to grab her and instead picked up a bottle of wood clue that he found beside her. “She is eating wood glue, Ashli!” He yelled. Of course I silently freaked out.

At this point, church had started 5 minutes ago. And, maybe we should have been there praying we were better, more observant parents. Nathan rushed to his phone to call someone for advice and I scanned the bottle for the words – “toxic.” Which I could not find. So, I grabbed my phone and Googled – Toddler ate wood glue – and then I slightly chuckled and then I got mad at myself for laughing at what could be a serious situation, because at this point, how the hell did I know?

Detective mode kicked in and I squeezed the bottle. I could not even get the wood glue out of the half dry rotted bottle so how could she? Then, at the same time, Nathan and I realized, she ate the hardened glue the gathered at the opening. You know, when you last use glue and it collectively gathers.

Once my Google search screen loaded, Poison Control’s number was the first thing I saw, so I dialed. And, to my surprise a nice lady answered quickly, “Poison Control, how may I assist you today.” Lo continued to lay across from me in the closet, starring at me, pushing me away as I reached for her, saying, “No, Mommy, go.” At this point a smell filled the closet air and I realized her red, blotchy face wasn’t from the wood glue.

Distracted by the whole situation, I answered, “Hi, umm yes…” I literally did not know what to say so I blurted it out, “my daughter ate wood glue. Is she going to be okay?” Now Lo was refusing eye contact.

The lady was so sweet and professional and asked me if she was choking or coughing or showing any symptoms and I actually said, “She is being quiet and starring at me.” Omitting the redness and blotches which I at this point knew had nothing to do with the wood glue. The kind lady actually chuckled. Then I explained that I was sure it was not actually glue but the remnants of glue that hardened onto the cap. She reassured me she would be fine, even double checking the “site.” She warned the worse would be she may experience a stomach ache or be bound up but to give her some water and she would be just fine.

I felt relieved. Slightly embarrassed but so thankful for that number, which is 1-800-222-1222, by the way. Write it down!!

When Nathan returned to the room, I was hanging up the phone, and picking up my daughter. “What did they say?” he asked.”Oh, she will be just fine! The only toxins we have to worry about are in her diaper.”

We missed church. We changed into comfy clothes and I changed Lo’s diaper. Lo returned to her Barbies and I hid the wood glue. I Googled – When so you start potty training a toddler? I learned Lo is definitely showing the ready signs. I still think Lo ate some wood glue and I posted Poison Control’s number on our refrigerator.

HELLO

KEEP UPDATED

INSTAGRAM

CATEGORIES

LOOKING FOR SOMETHING?

COPYRIGHT

Backwards N High Heels is a for-profit blog. Some of the links on this site are affiliate links meaning I may earn a commission through clicks or purchases made using that link. Every photo on this site is protected under a copyright, therefore it is illegal to use anywhere without written permission from me.